


it's like a symphony

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:52:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 17,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets/drabbles, gathered here for ease of archiving and all unrelated unless otherwise indicated. Inspired by otp prompts, songs, requests, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine that for some reason or another, person A doesn’t get to see B smile very often (whether it’s because they live apart, or B just isn’t usually a smiling person). A decides to start “collecting” B’s smiles by kissing them when they do. Bonus: A doesn’t tell them before doing it the first time.

They’re in bed when Archie does it the first time. It’s late, and they’re curled up on their sides, arms tossed over each other’s waists. Cook’s hand rests low on Archie’s back, tangled in his sleep shirt, and they’re both breathing softly, trying not to fall asleep.

“It’s only a few weeks,” Cook murmurs, stroking his fingertips along the dip of Archie’s spine, and Archie huffs out a breath, curling their ankles together beneath the sheets. 

“I know,” he says, soft and matter-of-fact. He slips his free hand out from under their pillow and presses his fingers to Cook’s jaw, curling around his stubbled cheek. “I’ll miss you.”

Cook smiles, eyes soft and sleepy, and Archie wishes he could capture it, keep the image of that sleepy smile with him while Cook is away. He can only think of one way to do that, though, and on an impulse he leans over and presses a soft kiss to the corners of Cook’s smile, first one side and then the other, followed by a slow, lingering kiss to the center of his mouth.

When he pulls back Cook’s smile has gone soft around the edges, his fingers pushing lightly at the warm skin of Archie’s lower back. They fall asleep with Archie’s hand still cupped around Cook’s cheek.

After that it kind of becomes a thing – a tradition, sort of, although Archie’s the only one that’s aware of it. He knows it’s kind of silly, and that Cook would probably laugh if he knew about it, but it helps Archie deal with the distance, whenever they’re called away for work or off on separate tours. 

He has a vast collection – well, of a sort – saved up since that first smile, a wide variety that he can look back on when he’s missing Cook. And Cook has so many different smiles, each one connected to a memory that Archie cherishes – there are the wide, goofy grins that stretch across Cook’s face whenever he tells one of his awful jokes, slow, sleepy smiles when they’re curled up in bed together, and the pleased curl of his lips whenever he nails down the chords to a particularly difficult song. There are infectious beams, the kind that precede Cook’s signature full-bodied laughter, and the dark, wolfish grins that he presses against Archie’s spine or brushes against the soft skin of his inner thighs, all lips and tongue and the bite of teeth against sensitive flesh.

And there are others, too, an endless supply of grins and smirks and smiles, and Archie makes it a point to kiss them all, adding each one to his ever-growing hoard.

(The best, the ones he treasures most, are the smiles Cook gives him when they find their way back to each other. They’re soft and affectionate and full of love, and Archie adds them to his collection with a gentle, lingering kiss. They taste like _home_.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your OTP leaving little love notes for each other around the house. (Bonus: Person A leaves really sweet, fluffy notes, but B’s are suggestive and sometimes dirty.

A bright yellow post-it note on the bathroom mirror reads _Love ya Cooook!_ Cook grins when he sees it, and he plucks it from the glass, cinching a towel around his waist before he heads into the bedroom. The note goes into his bedside drawer to join the others, an array of post-its, torn scraps of paper, and the occasional napkin, all scribbled on in Archie’s familiar messy scrawl. 

Cook rifles through his little hoard, eyes catching on certain messages –  there are the typical notes one would expect in a household of two busy men, scribbled grocery lists and reminders to do the laundry or put away the dishes, but most of them are what Cook would affectionately call ‘love notes,’ sweet little missives that Archie has spread all throughout the house, tacked to the fridge or pinned to Cook’s jacket or laid to rest on Archie’s empty pillow on the mornings he leaves the house before his partner.

_I love you_ shows up most often, though there are variations too – _I miss you_ or _You looked really cute this morning_ or _Go make me proud! xoxo_. Once there was a folded note left on Cook’s jacket, draped over the bed beside tickets for a film he’d been wanting to see, and he’d opened it up to see _Date night’s on me. Pick you up at seven? ;)_ scribbled in ink across the paper.

Not one to be outdone, Cook’s started leaving notes of his own, too, though typically they’re of a less… innocuous nature. Also, as Archie has told him multiple times, his face beet red, they’re “totally not appropriate to open in public, gosh!”

But Cook’s a romantic soul, sue him, and he’s also downright incorrigible once he really sets his mind to something. (Plus, he has a thing for watching Archie’s reactions to his notes, the way the other man will blush and duck his head, or stare at the seemingly innocent post-it with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, rereading Cook’s words with dark eyes).

They’re typically pretty tame, by Cook’s standards, the occasional suggestive comment interspersed with what he plans to do the next time he catches Archie alone. When it’s been a while, when one of them has an interview or an appearance or a show and won’t be back until late and Cook’s energy is running high, he won’t try quite so hard to censor himself. He remembers sending Archie off to a charity dinner one night without him, how he’d tucked a folded note into Archie’s suit jacket and sent him off with a rough, scratchy kiss to his brow, whispering in the hoarse growl that always sent Archie’s pulse spiking that he shouldn’t open it until later.

Archie had been home within the hour, his face flushed and his eyes dark, and the slightly embarrassed scowl on his face had been wiped away as soon as Cook had fallen to his knees in the entryway, the crumpled note with Cook’s hastily scrawled _I want to blow you_ falling forgotten to the floor.

Cook closes the drawer, grinning at the memories, and reaches for the dwindling stack of post-its left beside his glasses. He can’t leave Archie’s note unanswered, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine person A of your OTP is trying to do something while person B is giving them playful little kisses and bites down their neck and touching them teasingly.

“Cook – “

Cook hums. “Yeah, Arch?”

There’s the rustle of clothes as Archie shifts, followed by a barely noticeable pause in the music drifting from the piano.

“I’m trying to finish this arrangement.”

“Mm hm.” Cook purses his lips, tasting the slight tang of sweat.

“You’re distracting me,” Archie says, his voice a little choked. 

Cook hides his smirk against Archie’s throat. “Oh?” he murmurs, following the brush of his lips with a hint of tongue. Archie _squeaks_. “How so?”

“ _Cook_.” Archie’s fingers don’t falter over the keys; Cook has to give him credit for that. His breathing’s picked up a little, though, and he can’t seem to keep still, wriggling against Cook’s side like he can’t decide whether to move closer or shift further away.

“Keep playing.” Cook breathes the words against Archie’s ear, right before he flicks his tongue against the lobe, moving down to nip at the line of Archie’s jaw. “I’ll behave.”

“No you won’t,” Archie answers almost immediately, his attempt to be deadpan ruined by the tremor that runs through his frame as Cook begins to suck a bruise into the long, perfect arch of his neck. “C-Cook, c’mon.”

“C’mon what, Arch?” Cook rumbles, curling his palm over Archie’s muscled thigh, fingers digging into the material of his jeans. He can feel the heat of Archie’s groin against his fingertips, and he presses _in_ , rubbing tantalizingly at the growing bulge.

Arch hits a sour note on the piano, and Cook’s grin turns downright wolfish. “Ohmygosh, Cook! I can’t play when you do that!” 

Cook stills his hand, though he keeps his lips pursed against Archie’s skin, brushing against his throat with every word he speaks. “You want me to stop?” he asks, his hand tucked between Archie’s legs, not moving, but not withdrawing either. 

“Y-yes?” Archie phrases it like a question, and against Cook’s hand, his thighs twitch. 

Cook applies the slightest pressure, and Archie’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Gotta be honest here, Arch. You don’t sound so sure about that.”

Archie slams his palms on the keys, the discordant sound ringing shrilly in the still air, and Cook raises his head just in time to meet Archie’s lips in a hard, bruising kiss. He grins against the other man’s mouth, receiving a bite in retaliation that does absolutely nothing to wipe the smirk from his face, and when Archie tugs him off the piano bench, fingers tight in Cook’s collar, it’s with the sweet rush of victory that Cook follows him toward the bedroom.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your OTP cuddling the morning after sex. Person A gets up to gather their clothes and person B, turned on by A’s bare body as they stretch and bend over to pick up clothes, starts to idly masturbate. A’s reaction is up to you.

Cook wakes in the morning to Archie’s soft smile and sleepy eyes, their legs tangled beneath the thin sheets.

“Mm, ‘morning,” Cook rumbles, curling his palm over Archie’s bare hip. He shifts against the mattress, stretching a little and relishing in the familiar burn of sore muscles, memories from the night before bringing a smile to his lips.

“I’d ask what you’re smiling about,” Archie says softly, fingers curling over Cook’s heart tattoo, “but I have a feeling I already know.”

“I can’t get anything past you,” Cook smirks, leaning down to nip playfully at Archie’s lower lip. Arch squirms away, giggling, and Cook buries his face in the warm hollow of Archie’s throat with a groan. “What, no good morning kiss? And after I busted out my best moves last night? For shame, Archuleta.”

He feels Archie’s chest shake with his laughter, followed by the sensation of warm fingers stroking through the hair on Cook’s chest. “I have a meeting in half an hour. If I’m late my manager will – “

“Go on the warpath,” Cook finishes. He sighs gustily, brushing his hand along the dip of Arch’s lower back. “And here I was looking forward to spending the entire morning with you.”

“Oh?” Archie asks, his touch light against Cook’s collarbone, his throat, moving to cup his cheek so that he can lift Cook’s face away from his throat. His sweet, raspy voice is downright _playful_. “Doing what?”

The smirk that curls Cook’s lips is entirely wolfish. He doesn’t bother to respond, though the sweep of his hand along the curve of Archie’s ass is answer enough.

Archie shifts against him, chasing the teasing touch. “I should have guessed,” he breathes, brushing the blunt end of his nails through Cook’s beard. “You’re insatiable.”

Cook’s smoky laugh is lost in the press of their lips, and for a moment there is nothing but shared breath, the slick wetness of their heated kisses, and Cook’s wandering hands wringing low, raspy moans from Archie’s throat.

“Mmm,” Archie groans, pulling away from Cook’s lips. “ _Cook_. I have to go.”

Cook reaches between them to cup Archie’s cock, the flesh beginning to thicken from their kisses. “Doesn’t seem like you want to, though,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing against the soft head.

Archie bites his lip, reaching down to tangle his fingers with Cook’s. “Have to, though,” he says, a little breathlessly. He brushes a few lingering kisses along Cook’s knuckles before slipping from the bed, and Cook sighs, defeated.

He leans back against the headboard, watching as Archie pads across the room toward his discarded clothing. The broadening sunlight slips through a crack in the curtains, spilling soft morning light into their bedroom, and Cook traces the warm glow as it washes over Archie’s broad shoulders, the long, lean line of his back. He feels his whole body flush as he takes in the swell of Archie’s ass and his lean, strong thighs, and he feels his dick twitch as memories from the night before assail him, memories of being wrapped up in the warmth of Archie’s body.

 _Fuck_. Cook’s eyes catch on his favorite spots, the round curve of Archie’s hip, that enticing dip at the base of his spine, each utterly delectable asscheek. He can see a ring of dark bruises along Archie’s thighs from the night before, and the memory of curling his fingers into the younger man’s skin, feeling Archie shake and shiver and moan as Cook pounded into him, sends a burst of heat directly to Cook’s groin.

And then Archie _bends_ , reaching for the boxers Cook had tossed to the floor last night, and Cook bites back a curse as his profile is thrown into sharp relief. The sight of Arch’s flat stomach, lightly muscled chest, and the curve of his cock, soft against his inner thigh, all coated in the soft wash of sunlight streaming in through the curtains, sends Cook reaching needfully for his thickening cock.

He curls his fingers around the base, groaning softly at even that light touch, and bites into his bottom lip as Archie glances over his shoulder, roused by the sound. Usually Cook would laugh at the look on his partner’s face – a mix of surprise and helpless arousal – but at that moment all he wants is to get Archie back into bed with him.

“You sure you want to go?” he rasps, breathless at the slick slide of his fist along the heat of his cock. Archie’s eyes track his movements, following the curl of his fingers as they slide down to the base, squeezing as they stroke their way to the moist, leaking head.

“I – “ Archie swallows, can’t seem to say anything else, and Cook takes in the flush on his cheeks, the way it’s started to travel down his chest, and – most telling of all – the way his dick has begun to swell.

“C’mon, Arch,” Cook whispers, breath coming faster as he continues to jack his cock, sweat beading on his chest, in the hollow of his throat. “Come back to bed.”

He can tell Arch is close to caving, can see it in the sweep of his dark eyes, the way he chews listlessly at his bottom lip.

Cook pitches his voice low, spreads his legs to give Archie an unobstructed view of his fist working up and down the length of his cock, and pleads, “Baby, _please_.”

In a moment Arch is there, soft, bitten lips swallowing Cook’s needy groan, and Cook falls back to the mattress with the other man’s weight sure and warm on top of him. Archie reaches between them, curving his hand around Cook’s, and fuck, Cook can barely breathe, the catch of Archie’s long, slender fingers along the head of his cock too much stimulation.

Until Archie pulls their hands away, nearly making Cook cry aloud at the loss of friction. Archie soothes him with a gentle kiss to Cook’s flushed cheek, tangling their fingers together and pressing Cook’s hands to the mattress on either side of his head. Cook moans as Archie begins to roll his hips, their dicks slotting together like goddamn puzzle pieces, the sensation of Archie’s slick, hot flesh against his own sending Cook closer and closer to his release. He can feel it building in the base of his spine, his balls  drawing up tight to his body, and he squeezes Archie’s hands, chasing the brilliant white-out of an orgasm that’s hovering just on the edge of his reach.

One glance at Archie, sweat-soaked and flushed in the morning light, his full lips parted in a trembling moan, is all it takes. Cook tilts his head back, letting out a ragged cry as his orgasm crashes through him, and feels Archie tense above him as he finds his own release.

Afterwards they lay in a sweaty heap, Archie sprawled across Cook’s chest, their hands still clasped and a sticky mess between their bodies. Cook huffs out a laugh, breathing hard, and muses, “Guess you’re going to be late after all, huh, babe?”

“I’m putting all the blame on you,” Archie pants, lips barely moving against Cook’s damp, heaving chest.

Cook grins, bright and beaming in the early morning light. “Naturally.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Person A is trying to study but Person B is feeling really horny and frequently teases Person A to at least make out with them. Person B goes through all sorts of shenanigans like waltzing around the room naked, narrating everything they’re doing to themselves, thinking out loud about what lingerie they should wear to bed, etc. What happens next is up to you.

Archie feels his left eye start to twitch as he hears the slap of feet on tile echoing from the kitchen. He refuses to glance up as Cook enters the living room, keeping his eyes trained on his laptop screen and the books spread out across the coffee table.

“Man, I’m parched,” Archie hears, followed by the thump of Cook’s body slumping down onto the sofa. His leg brushes against Archie’s shoulder, but Archie is a paragon of patience, of ironclad will. He will _not_ look. “What about you, Arch? Want some?”

He presses the cold end of a beer bottle against Archie’s shoulder, leaving a wet imprint on his hoodie, and Archie breathes carefully through his nose.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says, the words on his computer screen blurring before his eyes. He blinks, and they come into sharp focus once more. “I’m nearly done with this paper, Cook.”

“That’s good,” Cook chirps, shifting on the couch. There’s the sound of liquid swishing in a bottle, followed by a muffled gulp as Cook drinks his beer, and then a soft, contented sigh. “You’ve been working on that thing for a week, seems like.”

“More like two days,” Archie says, his lips pulling into a smile despite himself. “It hasn’t been that long.”

Cook sighs again. His leg pushes up against Archie’s shoulder, and though the sensation is muted thanks to the thick material of Archie’s hoodie, he still shivers. Judging by Cook’s voice, a touch lower and far more smug than it has any right to be, Cook definitely notices. “It’s _felt_ like a week, though. Between all of our time in the studio and you hitting the books every night, I can’t even remember the last time we fuck– “

“Cook!” Archie turns his head, though what he’d planned to say sort of falls by the wayside as he’s confronted with the reason why, oh yeah, he’d been trying <i>not</i> to look at Cook in the first place.

“Yes, baby?” Cook asks, smirking around the lip of his beer bottle. He leans back against the sofa cushions, stretching his legs out in a lazy sprawl, and Archie swallows as his eyes – unintentionally! – trace the length of Cook’s body, the curve of his broad shoulders, the width of his chest, the soft trail of auburn hair leading from below his navel to his half-hard cock, all of him bare to Archie’s gaze.

“I just – “ Archie starts, only to trail off helplessly, his expression pained. “Do you have to walk around the house all – all naked like that?”

Cook tilts his head, making a show of considering it. “I don’t _have_ to, no,” he says, grinning as Archie huffs out a frustrated breath. “You know, you could always join me. Take a little break from your paper.”

Archie turns back to his screen, though the image of Cook’s nude body still clings stubbornly to his vision. “A little break with you would turn into an all night break, Cook.”

“Well, yeah,” Cook agrees. Archie tenses as he feels the older man lean closer, holding his breath as Cook’s voice drops into a throaty whisper, soft against the shell of his ear. “It’s been a while, Arch, and you know me. I like to take my time. Really, ah, prolong the experience, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Archie says softly, swallowing as memories of the last time they’d been together flash through his mind. Cook was always, um, really clingy in bed after they’d been apart for a while. Archie always had to make sure both of their schedules were clear for at least a day or two after a lengthy separation, because Cook liked to take his time, liked to draw out their lovemaking, until by the end of it they were both a trembling, sweaty heap in a bed of ruined sheets.

Archie shakes his head to dispel the memories, clearing his throat as he starts typing. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s saying, but it will help to distract him from Cook being… well, _Cook_. “You’re not going to change my mind, Cook. Just let me finish one more page, okay? And then we’ll, um. And then I’ll stop. Okay?”

He feels more than hears Cook sigh behind him, and for a moment afterward it is blissfully quiet. Archie dives once more into his paper (he has to delete the bit he’d written while he was trying to ignore Cook, because it totally didn’t make any sense, but now he’s on a roll). He’s just about to finish a paragraph, drawing to the end of a sentence when –

“I think I’ll suck your cock first.”

Archie slams his hand down onto the keys, turning to stare incredulously at Cook. “Cook, what the _heck_ – !“

Cook has his chin resting in the palm of his hand, elbow perched on the arm of the couch while his other arm is thrown across the back, and he studies Archie with dark eyes. “I could do it right here, get on my knees for you, or I could do it while you’re sprawled across the bed.” He shrugs, lips curling into a smirk. “Doesn’t really matter to me, just so long as it happens.”

Archie sputters, though he can’t even get one word out before Cook is off again.

“Have I ever told you how much it turns me on to do it while you’re still soft? To feel you swell in my mouth, against my tongue? How goddamn pretty you look with your cock stuffed between my lips, when you’re moaning and tossing your head and – “

“ _Cook_.” It’s nearly a whine. Archie can feel himself reacting to Cook’s words, to the low timbre of his voice, and he squeezes his legs together unconsciously, trying to ignore the blossoming heat in his groin.

“I’d suck you for a while,” Cook continues, as if Archie had never spoken. “Until you were begging me to let you cum, until I could feel how close you were, and then I’d turn you over and spread you, and open you up with my tongue.”

Archie’s breaths come faster, his heart pounding at the gritty want sound of Cook’s voice. He’s half-hard already, and his shorts are doing nothing to hide the state he’s in.

“God, you’d go crazy for it, wouldn’t you, Arch? You always do. I love how wild you get, how wrecked you sound when I fuck you open like that, and I’d draw it out for _hours_ , just fucking devour you, until you were desperate for my cock.” Cook wraps rough, callused fingers around the base of his cock, his stomach clenching at the touch, and his voice is shot as he glances into Archie’s hot, searching gaze. “Would you like that, Arch?”

Archie feels a groan building in his throat, and even his teeth sinking into his bottom lip does little to suppress it. He goes without resistance once Cook reaches for him, pulling him up from the floor and into his lap. Archie feels shaky and overheated and caught up in the spell that Cook’s words are weaving, and he lets out a shaky breath as he settles against Cook’s bare body, their groins brushing.

“Bedroom,” he whimpers, even as Cook skims pursed lips along his throat, along the curve of his jaw.

“What about your paper?” Cook asks, and even though his voice is thick with arousal Archie can still hear the amusement in it.

“Just take me to bed before I change my mind, Cook,” Archie huffs, pressing his lips to Cook’s freckled shoulder.

Cook rises from the couch, fingers gripping Archie’s thighs, and smiles darkly. “Whatever you say, babe.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Person B’s death, Person A covers the walls of their home with sticky notes describing Person B’s characteristics. Person A had never mustered the courage to tell Person B that they loved ‘em and is now terrified of forgetting a single attribute of their beloved best friend. About 6 months after Person B’s death a tornado hits their little house. The next morning when Person A returns to the rubble all the sticky notes are blowing through the air without a word on them. Laying there, in the middle of the demolished house is Person B, unconscious but very much alive, with Person A’s words inked all over their body.

_Generous_ , he writes, the scratch of the pen echoing in the stillness of the house. He discards the note, writes another, and another. _Selfless. Faithful. Kind_.

Each one he sticks to the wall, until there’s an array of colored post-its spread out before him, each one decorated with a word, a thought, a sentence. Some of them are characteristics – _Talented. Loyal. Beautiful smile. Beautiful_ **soul**. Others are messages, things he never said. Things he’ll never get a chance to say, now. _I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry_.

He’s lost count of how many there are.

He finishes another – _Funny, even when you’re not trying_ – and adds it to the fold, his throat dry as he leans back, staring at the amalgam of colored post-its covering the wall. The colors bleed together, the words blur, and he presses ink-stained fingers to his sore, tired eyes.

Cook knows he’s torturing himself, doing this, knows that if Archie could see him now he’d be so worried, would tell him in that sweet, raspy voice of his that he should take better care of himself.

But Archie’s not here, and he never will be again. And that’s why Cook is doing this. He writes down everything that he can remember about Archie, every trait, everything he loved about the younger man, so that he won’t forget.

And every time he stares at the wall, reads the scattered notes, he feels the grief and the loss anew, as though it were only yesterday that he’d gotten the news, as though six months had not already passed. He laughs, a reedy, broken sound. It doesn’t matter how much time passes him by; there’s still a void there where Archie used to be, an empty space which once had been filled by his laughter, his smiles, his light.

Cook stares through eyes hot and clouded by tears at the array of notes, and wonders if he’ll ever find anything like it again.

*

The wall fills, a declaration to the young man he’d loved, he _loves_. Cook’s fingers itch when he looks at it, constantly feeling like he’s missing something, like he’s _forgotten_  something, and his heart hangs heavy in his chest as puts his pen to paper, fingers trembling, trying to think, what hasn’t he said, what’s _left_?

It isn’t until a storm rocks the house, rain lashing the windowpanes and lightning cracking across the blue-black sky, that Cook finally adds another note to the wall – his last, but his most sincere, the secret, _impossible_  hope that still lives in his heart, his most fervent wish.

 _Come back to me_.

*

He wakes in the middle of the night to a feeling in the air that he can’t place, a sense of something different, something changed. He stumbles from bed with such a desperate urge to see the notes that he’s helpless to resist it, yet when he crosses the threshold, eyes seeking out the familiar words, he’s brought, stunned, to a halt.

The notes are scattered, whipping around the room like a whirlwind. It’s as though a great hand had swiped them all down at once, and they dance in the air, barely making a sound as they flutter to the ground below. All of them are blank, all of his carefully penned remembrances wiped from the pages, and Cook has only moments to fill a crushing sense of despair wrap its hand around his throat and _squeeze_  before his eyes are drawn to the center of the room, into the eye of the multi-colored hurricane.

There, lying on the floor, the notes fluttering harmlessly around his body, is _Archie_.

Cook makes a sound – he must, he feels the vibration of his throat, the expansion of his chest, the movement of his lips – and yet there is a rushing sound in his ears that overwhelms all else. He moves as if he were a puppet suddenly cut from its strings, falling gracelessly to his knees, his eyes wild and wide and wet as he crawls towards the body curled up in the middle of the room.

The mop of dark hair, the smooth olive skin, the sweep of his brow – it’s _Archie_ , his eyes closed as if in sleep, chest rising and falling steadily. He’s completely bare, legs tucked up close to his chest, and Cook’s eyes are filling, overflowing, tears streaming down his cheeks and catching on his lips, in his beard. He scrubs them away, unable to see, but they won’t stop, and his chest is sore, aching, hot. He reaches out with a hand that shakes violently, post-its still swirling around him – he doesn’t know what he expects, what he’ll find, but it’s not, not _this_ , the warmth of smooth skin beneath his hand, the flutter of a pulse pushing steady and strong at his fingertips.

Cook chokes out a sob, a desperate keen as he presses his forehead to Archie’s rounded shoulder, curling his arm around Arch’s chest. He can feel him _breathing_ , and oh god, what is this? How can this be _real_? Everything in him is telling him that this can’t be real.

Tears cloud his eyes, blinding him, and as he brushes them away, shaking so hard that he can barely manage, he sees something he had missed before. All along Archie’s skin are blue-black marks, marks Cook slowly recognizes are words. He curls his hand around letters, squinting through eyes that are sore and aching and wet, and his breath catches in his throat as he realizes –

They’re _his_. Everything he’d written on those notes, everything he could think to say about Archie, everything he’d wanted to say to the other man – they’re inked into his skin.

 _Generous_  curls over the skin of his left shoulder,  _Kind_  and _Faithful_ curves over his hips, _I love you_  rests like a chord of black ink in the hollow of his throat.

And there, hovering over his heart, starker than the others and with letters that betray the shakiness of the hand which coaxed them to life, are the last words Cook had ever pasted to the wall, his impossible, desperate wish – _Come back to me_.

He lowers his head, chest heaving on a sob that wracks his body nearly to pieces, and he presses his chin to the warm, soft space between Archie’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent which had once been so familiar to him, feeling the strength and vitality and _life_  in the body underneath him.

After a moment rife with disbelief and a desperate, aching hope, he feels fingers in his hair, hears a soft, sleepy voice asking, “Cook?” and raises his head to welcome Archie home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for day #1 of Cookleta Appreciation Month. Prompt: Pining/Cook's unsubtle crush.

David’s sitting in the little alcove that passes for a dining area on the bus when he hears it – humming. He glances up from his laptop, in the midst of answering a few emails, and spots Cook where he had last seen him, spread out along the couch in the front of the bus with his face buried in a book of crosswords. Everyone else is asleep; David can hear them snoring in their bunks, so the humming can only be coming from Cook.

It’s not that Cook’s humming is weird or distracting or anything. Cook’s voice is actually, um, really nice, all low and soft, and his humming is soothing, a reminder that they’re sharing the same space even if they aren’t speaking.

It’s _what_ he’s humming that surprises David.

 _Do you catch your breath, when I look at you?_ David sings along inside his head. _Are you holding back, like the way I do?_

Sure enough, Cook’s humming continues in the same familiar tune, his foot tapping the beat against the arm of the sofa. David watches him for a while, wondering if Cook even realizes what he’s doing.

Cook chooses that moment to glance over his shoulder, catching David’s eye before David has a chance to look away.

“Something on your mind, Arch?” he asks, smiling amicably, the slope of his grin as familiar to David as the song Cook had just been humming.

Warmth suffuses David’s face, though he has no idea what had brought it on.

“Oh, um, no,” he answers hastily, turning back to his computer screen. “Just checking my email.”

Cook makes a noncommittal sound behind him, followed by the scratch of pen across paper that tells David he’s gone back to his crossword. He doesn’t start humming again. David feels a little disappointed, and doesn’t know why.

*

The thing is, Cook keeps doing it.

David hears him all the time – while they’re hanging out in the green room of their latest venue, on the bus at night when they’re unwinding from a show, when they’re in the elevator heading to their rooms on the rare nights that they stop at a hotel.

And, okay, he’d be able to ignore it if that first night had been a one-time thing, or if Cook would hum some other song, but he doesn’t. It’s always _Crush_.

At first David is – well, flattered. That Cook would like his song at all fills him with this rush of warmth, because David is so proud of it. That’s _his_ song, his song that’s going on his first album and is playing on radio stations across the country. That Cook knows it, well enough to hum even, makes David happier than even the fans who scream the lyrics back at him.

(He’s well aware that that means something pretty significant. He just doesn’t think about it. Um. Often.)

So, yeah, he’s happy that Cook seems to like his song so much, but after a while it starts being kind of – well, distracting?

It’s just – David will be minding his own business, thinking about the next show or lyrics to a new song or how nice it’ll be to fall asleep in a bed for once when Cook will start up with his humming, low and soft, that familiar tune getting into David’s head and scattering his thoughts. He can’t _concentrate_ when Cook does that, not even a little – not because it’s intrusive or annoying but because David really –

– really _likes_ it.

Which is why he never calls Cook out on it. He has a feeling that Cook would stop, if David actually brought his attention to it. He doesn’t even know what he’d say, anyway. “You keep humming my song and it’s super distracting but, um, I really don’t want you to stop?” No thanks. It’s easier to just keep silent.

That is, until one night on the bus when Michael raises a brow at Cook and says, kind of rudely, “What the fuck are you doing, Dave?”

Cook glances up from his guitar, where he had been in the midst of plucking some achingly familiar notes from the strings. David makes a face before he can stop himself, having been completely enthralled not only by the soft acoustic version of _Crush_ that Cook had been absentmindedly strumming, but also by the way Cook’s fingers had been moving along the fretboard, effortless and graceful in a way that David finds ridiculously appealing.

“What am I doing?” Cook looks so genuinely confused that David opens his mouth, intent on distracting Michael from what he’s no doubt about to say.

Michael takes one look at David’s face and bursts out laughing, shaking his head when Cook asks him, “What? What’d I do?”

Michael waves his hand, heading towards the bunks with a wink in David’s direction. “I’ll let little D explain it to you,” he says, and disappears behind the sliding door that separates the bunks from the rest of the bus.

Cook turns to David, confusion painted across his face. “What the fuck was that about?” he asks, leaning back against the couch cushions as his fingers once again resume their gentle strumming. And once again, David easily picks out the melody of his song. _You got me hypnotized, so mesmerized, and I’ve just got to know_.

David bites his lip, unsure, not wanting Cook to stop but not wanting to lie to him either. Maybe, he thinks, there’s a middle ground.

“Do you ever think, when you’re all alone,” he sings, soft and slow. Cook’s fingers stutter over the strings, his eyes going a little wide, but David doesn’t give him a chance to stop or ask questions. He just keeps singing, “All that we could be, where this thing could go?”

He falters a little over, “Am I crazy or falling in love?” His breath sticks in his throat, his chest warm and full as he meets Cook’s eyes, which are finally – finally – filling with a sense of realization, of recognition. There’s a tell-tale flush spreading across his cheeks as well, and David laughs a little, nudging their shoulders together like, _It’s okay. I get it_.

Cook joins him on the next line, “Is it real or just another crush?,” his voice strangely vulnerable, and David settles close as they sing softly together into the night, the words of his song wrapping warmly around them both. Like an embrace.

Like a beginning.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for day #6 of Cookleta Appreciation Month. Prompt: Lyrics/Songs. And [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQumAx-Efns&list=PLeqS3ODd_7B4UUwHdR8FW0VVpl-ezlIoA&index=9) the song I chose as my inspiration.

He’s practiced his speech a hundred times – in the car in those early hours of the morning, the radio turned down low as he drove to the airport, on the plane, watching the reds and golds of dawn stretch out over the horizon, and on the cab ride over, his heart in his throat as it turned down a street whose name he had memorized.

 _I missed you. I’m sorry for all the things I said before I left. I’m sorry I pretended that I didn’t need you. I’m sorry I ever made you think for a moment that I didn’t love you_.

He repeats the words, over and over again in the safety of his own head. _I’m sorry I ran away. I needed time, I needed to figure out who I was without you, without anyone. I needed to figure out what I wanted_.

They hurt, those words. Admitting them. And yet they’re freeing, too, like they’ve been hiding away inside of himself for a long time, just waiting to get out. 

He only hopes that there’s still a chance to fix things. 

_I don’t know if you still – if you still want the things you wanted before I left. If you still want me. But, if you do –_

The cab slows to a stop. David pays his fare on autopilot, eyes trained on the front door of a house he’s never seen before. His hands shake as he opens the car door, wondering for the first time if he should have called. He’d been so focused on getting there that he hadn’t bothered to think of anything else, wanting to ride the momentum of his bravado before all of his courage fizzled out and left him.

He takes his time walking to the door, taking the chance to rehearse his speech one last time. He needs this to be the one time that he doesn’t stumble over his words, needs his intentions to be clear, needs to be _understood_.

It takes a few moments before he’s able to knock, rapping on the door with his knuckles and then stepping back, his breath sticking uncomfortably in his throat as he waits.

He hears footsteps echoing beyond the closed door, and he braces himself, the words he’s memorized waiting on the tip of his tongue – 

But then the door opens, and Cook is there, barefoot and sleepy-eyed like he’d just woken up, and David can’t speak at all.

He wants to – God, how he wants to. Wants to tell Cook everything – how he’s missed him, how he loves him, how it doesn’t matter where he goes or how far he wanders, Cook will always be his _home_.

But he can’t. His throat is too full of everything he wants to say, and his eyes are trying to drink in all of Cook all at once, his wide eyes and messy hair, thinner than David remembers and scruffier than the last time Dave had seen him, but still _Cook_ , and all David can do is choke out his name, his eyes wet and his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Cook steps forward, and David has half a second to wonder whether he’s about to be pushed away or told to leave before there are arms around him, pulling him in, Cook’s grip strong and unyielding and David falls into his arms with a grateful sob. His fingers clench in Cook’s t-shirt, warm and soft across the broad span of his back, and he buries his face in the curve of Cook’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and the familiar trace of Cook’s cologne.

“Hey,” Cook rasps against his ear, his voice hoarse and wet. “ _I missed you_.”

David wants to say, _Me too_ , wants to say _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ and _Don’t let me go_ , but all he can do is tighten his grip around Cook and bury his face further into the warmth of Cook’s neck.

Cook reaches up to cup the back of David’s head, his other hand firm against the small of his back, and David knows Cook understands, anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for day #10 of Cookleta Appreciation Month. Prompt: Teaching each other how to play an instrument.
> 
> A golf club totally counts as an instrument :P

Archie is an idiot.  
  
He knew when he clicked the stupid pledge button that this was a dumb idea, and that of course Cook would know it was him. But it’d been a decision made on impulse (like all of his best ones, right? _Not_ ) and by the time his brain had caught up with his fingers they had already pressed the button (and also entered his credit card information, sigh).  
  
He’d stared at the screen in shock for quite a while afterward, cursing the fact that he wasn’t thinking (at all) and the fact that he’d let his impulses guide his actions rather than his common sense, and also the fact that he felt so ridiculously out of his depth over his little crush on Cook that he’d had to resort to _buying_ a date with the guy. Well, not really a date. An outing. To play golf. Which Archie didn’t actually know how to do.  
  
Gosh, he was an _idiot_.  
  
It totally didn’t help matters that Cook had called him barely an hour after he made his little pledge, answering Archie’s hesitant “Hello?” with a very to the point, “Did you just do what I think you did?”  
  
“Um. No?” he’d answered, because maybe Cook didn’t know about it at all and was just talking about something else –  
  
“You know you don’t actually have to pay me just to hang out, right?” _Dang it_.  
  
“Uhhhh.”  
  
“You realize you just basically bought a date with me, don’t you?” Cook had asked, his voice all amused, and Archie had known he was joking, knew he needed to laugh the comment off and play along, maybe make Cook think it had been a big joke on his part, but he, uh. Hadn’t done that. In fact, he’d done the exact opposite.   
  
“Does that mean it is? Um, a date?” He’d spent at least five minutes wondering who had said that before he realized _Oh, that was me_ and also _Cook’s not saying anything_.  
  
“Um.”  
  
“Next Saturday,” Cook had said eventually, and before Archie could even ask what the heck that meant, “You free?”  
  
He had been, actually, and had said as much.  
  
“I’ll pick you up around noon. For our date.” And just like that the conversation had been over, the dial tone ringing in Archie’s ears. He’d stared at the phone like it would give him the answers he so desperately needed.  
  
What had just – ? Had Cook just – ? Were they actually – ?  
  
Cook had said _date_. They were going on a _date_!

*

Archie had thought they’d go out to a movie, or dinner (or lunch, since Cook wanted to meet so early?) Typical first date things. (And okay, his heart still did this nervous little jump whenever he thought about the fact that this was actually happening, that he was actually going on a date with Cook.)  
  
But Archie had been wrong. So wrong.  
  
Which is how he finds himself here, trying to hold the dang golf club the way Cook had showed him and trying to aim for the dang tiny golf ball whenever he swung.  
  
“Hey, you wanted the golf day,” Cook had said cheekily when they had arrived at the golf course, Monty shaking his head alongside him and giving Archie a ‘What are you gonna do?’ look.   
  
_I wanted a **date**_ , Archie thinks, a little sourly, watching as his golf ball soars a few feet into the air only to splash with a loud 'plop’ noise into the lake a few feet (well, a lot of feet) from the hole. 

Monty and Cook make sympathetic noises, and all Archie wants to do is crawl into one of those stupid holes and _die_. This wouldn’t be so bad if it were something he was actually good at; he always has fun with Cook and this time’s no different. Still, he was hoping for… well, for _more_.  
  
Cook must notice his downcast expression; he sidles up to Archie’s side and nudges his shoulder, smiling in the same lopsided way as always and making Archie’s lips twitch upward despite himself.  
  
“You’re not very good at this, are you, Arch?” he asks, and wow, way to rub it in, Cook.  
  
His expression must be pretty funny just then, for Cook to laugh as hard as he is right now. Archie’s just about to thwak him on the arm or go and sit with Monty in the cart but Cook finally stops laughing at his misfortune and (oh gosh) wraps his arms around Archie’s waist, moving so that his chest is pressed up against Archie’s back.  
  
“Um,” Archie starts, not entirely opposed to this turn of events but still a little confused (and um, Monty’s like right there, so.)  
  
“Here,” Cook rumbles against his back, sliding his hands over Archie’s and moving them into position over the handle of his golf club. He’s so close that Archie can feel his chest expand and contract with every breath, and feel the scratch of Cook’s beard against his neck whenever he speaks. “Hold it like this, move into place here – ” He steps back after a moment, studing Archie with a critical eye and nodding in satisfaction at what he finds.  
  
“There you go. Now try it.” And, before Archie can protest or complain because um, he’d rather get back to that whole Cook being really close to him thing than  _golf_ , Cook leans back in and murmurs, “If you make this shot, we can ditch Monty and get out of here. Go somewhere more private.” The way he says private sounds like something far, um, dirtier, and Archie fights to suppress the full body shiver that wants to shake his frame.  
  
Instead he stares straight ahead, squares his shoulders like Cook had shown him, and swings. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for day #15 of Cookleta Appreciation Month. Prompt: Alternate meetings.
> 
> Based on the premise of [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Your_Eyes_\(2014_film\)) movie, where two strangers on opposite sides of the country discover they share a telepathic bond.

It happens out of nowhere; one moment David’s sitting down to dinner with his family, the next he’s staring out into a flood of unfamiliar faces, his hands wrapped around a mic and the weight of a guitar cradled against his chest.

He blinks and the images fade, but the sensation of the hot stage lights and the sweat slicking his hair remain. David lowers his fork, glancing around the table to see if any of his family members had noticed anything odd. Jazzy’s telling a story about something that happened at school, Amber interjecting with her own version of events, and no one’s paying any attention to him. Had he just imagined the whole thing? Or had he fallen asleep? His schedule’s been pretty hectic lately, leaving him exhausted more often than not, so it wouldn’t be unheard of for him to nod off. Surely that’s all it had been.

Or so that’s what he thinks, until a few days later when he’s back in L.A. He’s in his apartment, unpacking from his trip home, mind blissfully blank as he sorts through his laundry when – out of nowhere – his bedroom disappears, replaced by the dark, smoky interior of what looks like a bar. He’s in a booth, a tall glass of something dark and frothy on the table in front of him, and he can smell a cloying mix of smoke, beer, and salt in the air.

“What’s happening to me?” he murmurs, blinking repeatedly to clear the images from his vision.

“Uh. Hello?” The voice is one David doesn’t recognize. He stumbles to his feet, eyes darting about his bedroom for whoever it might belong to, but there’s no one there.

“Who’s there?” His head swims, his vision wavering between his familiar bedroom walls and the dim interior of a bar he’s never been to, and for a startling moment he no longer feels like himself. “Where are you?”

“What the fuck?” David flinches at the curse, stumbling down the short hallway connecting his bedroom to the living room. He feels the chipped edge of the table beneath his fingers even as his hands remain firmly fixed to his sides, and he rubs furiously at his eyes, the dual sensations making his mind race.

 _I’m hallucinating_ , he thinks, staring down at his hands. _Is that what this is?_

“What the hell is in this?” That unfamiliar voice mutters, and David looks down to see a hand that is not his own wrapped around the handle of the beer glass, pushing it resolutely away. “Hearing voices is the cutoff point, Dave. You’re definitely drunk.”

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” David sputters, forgetting for the moment that it’s probably not healthy to respond to the voice inside your head. “That’s actually kind of rude, you know?”

“Okay, whose _saying_  that?” Anger pulses through him, coupled with a sliver of confusion and fear. The emotions are muddled, a little distant, almost like David’s feeling them secondhand, and for a moment he has no idea how to respond.

Is he going crazy? The fact that he’s seeing things that aren’t there and hearing voices – well, _a_ voice – in his head all seem to be pointing towards a conclusion he really doesn’t want to think about.

“I’m just – I’m tired,” he tells himself, slumping down onto the sofa, “or I’m dreaming, or – “

“Stop,” the voice demands irritably, drawing David up short. “Jesus, just – stop talking. You’re giving me a headache.”

“I’m giving _you_  a headache?” David repeats, pressing the tips of his fingers to his temples where a dull ache has begun to throb. “How can I be giving you a headache when you’re a…a figment of my imagination or a hallucination or something?”

“… How do I know that’s not what _you_  are?” The voice returns, causing David to blink down at his knees in stunned confusion.

“… Who  _are_ you?” he eventually whispers, reaching for the phone wedged in his pocket. Maybe he should call someone?

“David Cook,” the voice answers, voice lilting up at the end like the owner suddenly isn’t so sure. “Who are _you_?”

“I’m – “ _Talking to a voice inside my head, oh gosh_. “ – I’m David, too? David Archuleta.”

A snort – a rather unattractive one, at that – echoes in David’s head, followed by a derisive, “That’s original. As far as drunken delusions go, this one takes the proverbial cake, Dave.”

“I told you I’m not drunk,” David returns hotly, annoyance overtaking his fear and confusion, if only for a moment. “And – oh gosh, what am I _doing_? I’m talking to a voice inside my head.” He clasps his fingers over his mouth, staring hard at the floor until his eyes burn from the strain of holding back tears. God, what’s happening to him?

For a blissful moment he hears and sees nothing, yet the presence of something – of someone else – remains, lingering in his periphery like a persistent itch that he can’t scratch. He takes a couple of deep breaths, waiting, and sure enough –

“… Where are you?” The voice is softer, barely more than a whisper in David’s ears.

The strangeness of the question distracts him enough from… well, everything else, that David answers without thinking. “I – I’m home? Um. In Los Angeles.”

“L.A., huh?” There’s a tinge of amusement to the voice now, coupled with a hint of hysteria that David feels a hundred fold. “I’m in Nashville. I’m… fuck, are you – ? You’re _real_?”

David blinks at the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. “I – Yes? Are… are you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m real.” A disbelieving laugh echoes in David’s ears, husky and low. “Not that I’m sure of anything right now. Fuck, what’s _happening_  here?”

David shakes his head, slumping back against the couch cushions. “You’re asking the wrong person,” he says.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your OTP meet at a gym, and person A is so distracted by person B that they nearly injure themselves.

“Just a little more, Cook! You’re almost there!”

Cook wheezes out something that might be a response, trying to regulate his breathing the way his trainer had taught him, drawing in air carefully through his nose and letting it out through his mouth. It doesn’t seem to make that much difference; he still feels like his lungs are about to burst, and also like his trainer is trying to kill him.

Said trainer is jogging along steadily in front of him, barely a hair out of place and not even breathing hard, even though they’ve been at this for at least an hour. “Just one more mile, Cook!” he calls over his shoulder, shooting a smile at Cook that – in any other circumstance – would garner a grin or a flirtatious comment or two from him. As it is, he can barely concentrate on _not passing out_ , and not even Archie’s stupidly adorable grin can distract him from the stitch in his side or the sweat stinging his eyes.

He’d been pretty skeptical when David Archuleta had shown up at his door nearly a month ago, gym bag thrown over his shoulder and a wide, friendly smile on his face. Cook hadn’t known much about him beforehand, only that he came highly recommended and had been the only fitness trainer available on such short notice when Cook had gone looking.

When he’d shown up at the door, though, Cook hadn’t known what to think. He remembers staring down at the guy – at his boyish grin and bright eyes – and wondering if he was being played with. The guy was _tiny_ , and young, and despite the broad shoulders visible beneath the polo shirt he was wearing, Cook hadn’t understood how this guy was supposed to be able to whip _him_  into shape.

At least, not until Archie had proceeded to put him through the most hellish workout of his _life,_  leaving Cook wheezing on the floor of his home gym, drenched in sweat, every muscle from the top of his head to the tips of his toes _aching_.

Archie had pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, smiling softly at Cook’s low groan of relief, and told him he’d done remarkably well for the first day. He’d let himself out after Cook’s panted assurance that yes, he’d like to continue the next day, and no, he didn’t need any help getting up, thanks.

(He’d stayed on the floor for at least an hour after Archie left, half of him wondering what had knocked loose in his brain enough for him to actively seek out more of that torture and the other half determinedly denying that Archie’s big hazel eyes and dimpled grin might have had something to do with it.)

The next couple of weeks had been strenuous, to say the least. Archie never goes easy on him, never lets up on the pressure or the intensity, and – after he grows familiar enough with the routine that his muscles no longer cry out in agony every night – Cook learns to appreciate that. There’s no denying that Archie’s methods are effective; Cook feels stronger, _better_ , and though he has no hope of keeping up with Archie and still has to wince his way up the stairs after one of their workouts, he’s immeasurably grateful that he’d sought Archie out and stuck with his grueling program.

It’s not only the physical and health perks that come along with their association that he’s grateful for, either. Archie is genuinely a nice, funny, remarkably interesting guy. Cook goes out of his way to learn a little more about him each day they spend together, listening to Archie talk about his family and his interests and his hobbies, finding out that he loves to sing (and that he has a set of pipes on him the likes of which Cook has never heard before), and that he carries a quiet sense of faith about him that Cook finds equally endearing and inspiring.

And, okay, he’s also ridiculously attractive, with his dark hair and smooth skin and bright eyes, not to mention the slim, sculpted chest, strong runner’s legs, and surprisingly broad back revealed by his t-shirt and shorts, his usual get-up when they take to the hiking paths snaking through the park or spend the afternoon in Cook’s home gym.

Cook has found himself caught off guard more than once by Archie’s eyes or smile or strong, capable hands, so much so that he’s nearly injured himself in the midst of one of their workouts, too focused on the beads of sweat shining at the base of Archie’s throat or the sight of his biceps flexing as he adds more weight to Cook’s barbell to pay attention to what he’s doing. It’s distracting, it’s dangerous, and – more importantly – it’s really fucking inappropriate.

That’s what Cook tells himself, anyway, whenever he catches Archie staring back at him, something other than professionalism or friendly camaraderie shining in his eyes. _You can’t date your trainer, Dave. Don’t even think about it_.

(Admittedly, he’s not very good at taking his own advice.)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your Smol and Tol otp where Tol is doing push-ups and Smol is lying under them so they are more motivated to stay up on their arms and keep going and sometimes when they push down they get a peck on the lips (and then Tol gets tired and collapses heavily on top of Smol, smushing them while they flail)
> 
> Sequel to the previous ficlet!

“Fifty more,” Archie says, gazing calmly up at Cook’s flushed, sweaty face.

Cook tries not to grimace. “Fifty?” he asks incredulously, arms aching even as his knees remain firmly planted on the floor. “Babe, I could barely do the first fifty, I can’t – “

“You can,” Archie says simply, shifting his hands from their resting place against his stomach to curl around Cook’s hips, urging Cook, “Up. Fifty more, and we’ll cool off.”

Cook stares down at him, aghast. Granted, he probably shouldn’t be that surprised that Archie is being as tough with him as always. If ever he had thought that the change in their relationship – from trainer and trainee to lovers – would influence the younger man to cut him a little slack during their sessions, that delusion had been laid to rest the day following their first kiss, when Archie had worked him so hard that Cook had collapsed to the floor after their cool down, limbs trembling, wondering if he’d dreamed the whole encounter and inadvertently pissed Archie off somehow instead.

“Are you – not as okay as I thought you were?” he’d asked between heavy gasps for air, flopping his hand weakly in Archie’s direction when the younger man had done nothing but tilt his head in confusion. “The – ah – the kiss… ?”

It had been strangely appealing to watch the flush of red spread across Archie’s cheeks and nose. Appealing, but not exactly enlightening. At least not until Archie had told him, carefully avoiding eye contact the entire time, “I didn’t, um. This – us, I mean – it can’t change… this.” He’d gestured futilely to the room, the various pieces of equipment scattered about that Cook had grown intimately familiar with over the past few months.

Eventually Cook had realized what Archie was trying to say, despite the somewhat disjointed explanation. “So you’re just gonna kick my ass that much harder, huh?” he’d asked, grinning in an attempt to soothe Archie. “To prove you’re not gonna give me special treatment just because we’re together?” It’d been a bold statement to make considering they hadn’t really discussed the kiss since it happened, but no one had ever accused Cook of being subtle.

Archie had ducked his head, staring at Cook from beneath his lashes, a familiar nervous gesture that had immediately lifted Cook’s heart and flung it into the stratosphere. “I… Yes?”

“…Are you asking me or telling me?” Cook had countered, a little faint with the giddy rush of happiness filling his chest.

Archie’s little huff of annoyance had only made him grin harder, ignoring the ache in his limbs as he’d pulled his trainer to the floor.

“Cook.” Archie’s hands flitting from his hips to curve around his cheeks rouse Cook from his memories, and he blinks down at the other man, an automatic grin curling his lips as he takes in Archie’s raised brows and pursed lips. “You’re supposed to be working, not staring at me.”

“Awww,” Cook pouts, “but that’s the best – “

Archie slaps his palms over Cook’s mouth. “The sooner you finish these push-ups,” he interrupts, lips twitching at the corners like he’s trying hard not to smile, “the sooner you can flirt.”

Cook huffs out a laugh. He’d never imagined when he’d first met Archie that the younger man could be so  _sassy_. “Think I’ll need more incentive than that,” he teases, his words muffled, lips brushing against Archie’s palms as he speaks.

Archie rolls his eyes, though Cook notices the tips of his ears turning red as he snatches his hands away. “Like what?”

“Oh, Archie,” Cook says playfully, “that’s _easy_.”

He plants his palms on either side of Archie’s head, winking as he lifts off of his knees. Everything aches, but the pain is easy to ignore if he focuses solely on Archie’s face, the encouraging tilt of his soft smile, the way their chests brush each time Cook lowers himself. He can feel sweat dripping into his eyes, his arms, chest, and stomach aching as he continues to push himself off the floor, but it’s all worth it when he reaches ten, twenty, thirty push-ups, because each time he gets another ten under his belt he reaches down and captures Archie’s mouth in a breathless kiss, feeling his boyfriend’s lips curl into a smile beneath his own, the soft brush of his hands along Cook’s forearms filling him with the burst of energy he needs to do ten more push-ups, twenty more, until he lowers himself over Archie for the last time, breathing too hard to give him a proper kiss but trying anyway.

He has about two seconds to feel triumphant about actually having survived the ordeal before his arms finally decide that they’ve had just about enough, what remaining strength he has seeping out of him in the space between one moment and the next.

Cook feels more than hears Archie grunt as he collapses, his legs and arms bracketing the younger man’s body in a graceless sprawl. He tries to brace himself on the floor, but his arms have taken on a noodle-like consistency, leaving him stranded atop his flailing boyfriend.

“Uh… oops?” he offers, panting against Archie’s throat as he struggles to catch his breath.

Archie’s hands abruptly cease their flailing, hesitating a moment before patting gently at Cook’s mussed, sweaty hair, a sympathetic _there, there_  gesture that has Cook cracking up in seconds, Archie’s breathless laughter ringing like music in his ears.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took song requests and wrote ficlets in the style of the music shuffle meme, where you can only write for as long as the song is playing.

Howl – Florence and the Machine (03:34)

-

If you could only see the beast you've made of me

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart

Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

-

Cook sets his teeth to Archie’s throat, sinking in at the jugular, tasting sweat and salt and the tang of iron on his tongue. Archie keens, throwing his head back as Cook snaps his hips forward, brutal thrusts that shake the bed frame. The headboard bangs against the wall, the tell-tale sound interspersed with Archie’s throaty moans and breathless pleads for, “ _More_ , Cook, please, _oh_ – “ There’s no disguising what they’re doing in here, locked away in Cook’s hotel room, but he doesn’t care about being discreet, doesn’t care about being quiet. His flesh is still buzzing from Archie’s proximity after two fucking years of radio silence, his brain filled with that raspy voice crooning, _Am I crazy or falling in love?_ , and they’d barely made it to Cook’s hotel room before they were tearing at each other’s clothes, both of them ravenous for the taste of the other’s skin.

Cook growls against Archie’s throat, mouthing curses against his jaw. He feels like he can never be close enough, wants to burrow beneath Archie’s skin and into his heart and never leave, feel its heated pulse against his lips and tongue until he can’t even fucking remember what it felt like to be apart from him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whimpers helplessly, his fingers digging into Archie’s sweat-slicked thighs, pressing bruises into the soft, hot skin. The wet clap of skin on skin echoes in the room, their gasps and moans a startling contrast to the duet they’d shared on stage just a few short hours ago.

When he comes, it’s with a guttural cry ripped from the very core of him. Archie answers him with a desperate keen of his own, and they both fall together to the ruined sheets, soaked in sweat and sex and heat.


	14. Chapter 14

E.T. – Katy Perry (03:29)

-

This is transcendental on another level

Boy, you’re my lucky star

I wanna walk on your wavelength

And be there when you vibrate

For you I’ll risk it all

-

“There it is,” Archie says, pointing up at the smattering of stars above their heads, bright points of light scattered across the night sky. “In that cluster, right there?” He glances over at Cook, lips quirking into a smile. “That’s where I’m from.”

Cook nods, staring up at the stars, trying to imagine what Archie’s home world must look like. Archie has told him all about it, the two moons blazing in its sky, the meteor showers that blanket its surface every morning, and the crisp, sweet air, devoid of the pollutants that taint Earth’s atmosphere.

Archie’s fascinated with the Earth, with its landscapes, its creatures, its people. He’s infinitely curious about them all, eyes wide and bright and amazed as Cook shows him around L.A. He grows excited over the simplest things, from a stray cat crossing their path to to Cook’s worn acoustic guitar; Archie wants to lay his hands on all of them, feel their shape with his fingers and catalog every detail.

Cook’s friends give Archie a wide berth, wary of the otherworldly quality that clings to him like a second skin, to the bright golden rings around his hazel irises and the muted glow of his skin.

Cook ignores their misgivings; he’s drawn to Archie in a way that he can’t resist, in a way that he doesn’t even fully understand himself. He can’t ignore that pull, the connection they share. He doesn’t want to.


	15. Chapter 15

Take Me to Church – Hozier (04:02)

-

She tells me 'worship in the bedroom'  
The only heaven I'll be sent to  
Is when I'm alone with you

-

Fingers trail over his hips, down the length of his thighs, callused fingertips digging into his skin. All the while a roving mouth presses soft, lingering kisses to his cock, fluttering over the pulsing head and pausing to lap at his slit with a slick, swirling tongue.

David tilts his head back on a moan, low and raspy, clenching his fingers in soft russet hair. Doesn’t push, doesn’t cling or grasp or pull, just holds on tight as Cook’s talented lips and tongue send him further and further to some perilous peak.

Cook groans, a long, _hungry_  sound, so full of want that David has to open his eyes, seek out his lover’s dark eyes. He gasps at the sight that greets him, Cook’s lush mouth sinking down over his cock, lips red and swollen as he swallows David’s length, fingers gripping the base in a tight, practiced hold, his other hand curled possessively over David’s thigh.

Cook’s gaze finds his, his eyes heavy-lidded, so dark and hungry that David gasps aloud, mewling as Cook spreads his legs a little wider. He feels open and _exposed_ to Cook’s gleaming eyes, his desperate mouth, his feverish touch, lost in a haze of want and lust and desire.

But oh, this is more than just sex; it’s more than love.

The way Cook’s touching him, looking at him, the way he’s bringing David to the brink of exquisite pleasure, the razor thin margin where it sharpens into desperate, aching pain –

This – this is _worship_.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This verse (and all of the song choices) courtesy of the lovely [vindicatedtruth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth).

How Did You Know? – The Phillippine Madrigal Singers (04:47)

-

I'll never forget

How you brought the sun to shine in my life

And took all the worries and fears that I had

 

-

It’s late, and David can hear the sounds of the other Idols sleeping around him, muffled snores and snuffles and rustling as they move about in their bunks.

Beside him Cook slumbers peacefully, his cheek mashed into the other side of David’s pillow. They’re pressed chest to chest in David’s narrow bunk, their legs tangled together beneath the thin sheets, and though David’s eyes are full and heavy and exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, he can’t help but cling to wakefulness just a little longer, eyes trained on Cook’s sleeping face.

His palm migrates from Cook’s side to curl against his cheek, fingertips trailing over his warm skin, brushing through the stubble along his chin and jaw and up into his hair. Cook makes a soft sound, grumbling a little and turning his face into the caress, and David feels a giddy smile spread across his lips. 

Months ago he never would have imagined he would wind up here, with Cook in his bed. He remembers meeting Cook for the first time, how the older man’s charm and laugh and _smile_ had caught him unaware, made him feel things he couldn’t put a name to, things he knew he shouldn’t.

He remembers how scared he had been back then, too, of everything – the pressure, the show, the public, and the feelings he’d begun to develop for his competitor had only made it worse.

But Cook had had a way about him, even back then, to put David at ease, throwing an easy smile or an awful joke his way just when David needed it the most, like he knew – sometimes before David did – exactly what he needed.

“Go to sleep, Archie,” Cook mumbles, his arm curling tighter around David, pulling him close. His eyes haven’t even opened. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

David presses his smile to the crown of Cook’s head and says, happily, “I know.”

 

 

Please Be Careful with My Heart – Christian Bautista & Sarah Geronimo (03:38)

-

So I know just how you feel  
Trust my love is real for you  
I'll be gentle with your heart

-

Cook catches Archie’s eyes from across the stage, through the bustle of roadies and stage hands and the other Idols milling about as they rehearse for the show later that evening. He blows a kiss when no one’s looking, and grins goofily when Archie startles, blushing and turning his head so Cook won’t see it, but pressing the tips of his fingers to his cheek anyway.

That’s the kind of thing Cook loves about Archie, the way he flushes whenever Cook throws him a flirty glance, the way he’ll act all exasperated when Cook does something silly but wind up going along with it anyway.

Cook knows that he’s the first serious relationship Archie’s ever had, his first foray into romance and all that comes with it. The first time they touched with more than just friendly intent behind the gesture, the first time they kissed, Cook had felt just as nervous, just as _fragile_ , as if it were his first time experiencing that rush, that desire.

He strives to be careful with Archie, with his trust, his insecurities, his heart. The future is uncertain, rife with change, with the unknown. There will come a time when they’re no longer a bunk away from each other, when they’re not sharing a stage every night, when they won’t be able to see other whenever they want to.

But the future is rife with _possibility_  too, and Cook knows – if they’re true to each other, and if they’re careful – that they’ll be okay.

 

 

To See You Again – Sugarfree (04:15)

-

Because for that person you love wholeheartedly

I’m willing to do everything

Just to see you again

-

He can hear the sadness in Archie’s voice when they talk, can see the shadows under his eyes whenever they manage to catch a video chat in-between tours and interviews and record negotiations. Archie loves his music, loves his fans, loves being able to travel and share that love with the world, but fame sits heavy on his shoulders. The pressures of the music industry, the intrusiveness of the media – it takes its toll.

It doesn’t help that they keep missing each other, that they haven’t been able to see each other in months. Each time Archie ends one of their calls with, “ _I love you. I miss you_ ,” his voice soft and sad, Cook feels another little piece of his heart break. He longs for the nights of the Idol tour, when he could slip from his bunk and into Archie’s, drawing the boy close, or tuck his face into Archie’s neck while they sat together in the lounge, listening to that familiar, raspy voice as Arch talked about the next show or his album or something a fan had said at the last meet and greet. 

When his management team first runs the opportunity by him to play a show overseas, the first thing Cook thinks about isn’t the chance to travel halfway across the world, or what a once in a lifetime opportunity it is, or even how amazing the show will be.

No, the first thing he thinks is, _I want Archie with me_.

 

 

One and Only You – Parokya Ni Edgar (02:54)

-

It took one look and forever laid out in front of me

One smile and I died

Only to be revived by you

-

Manila is balmy and beautiful, the bright summer sun bronzing his skin and turning Cook’s hair to gold. David breathes in the warm, tropical air, feeling all of the tension that he’s carried for the past few weeks (the past few _months_ ) draining out of him in the process.

Arms snake around his waist, pulling him back against a firm, familiar chest, and David tilts his head back against Cook’s shoulder, nosing along the older man’s stubbly cheek and pressing a kiss to the ruddy skin.

“Someone looks happy,” Cook rumbles, curling his arms around David’s stomach and squeezing gently. David smiles, closing his eyes against the bright Manila skyline visible outside his hotel window, and breathes in the scent of Cook’s cologne, the bare traces of sweat and aftershave clinging to his skin.

“I am happy,” he says, turning in the circle of Cook’s arms and wrapping his own around his boyfriend’s broad back. He hums happily as he settles into the embrace, feeling Cook’s big, warm hands trailing up and down his back in slow, broad strokes. He feels refreshed, new, like he’s finally been able to cast off the months of loneliness and distance and longing that had bogged him down for so long, and he knows he has Cook to thank for that.

“Can we hang out here for a little while?” he asks, wanting to hold on to this feeling for as long as he’s able.

He feels Cook smile against his brow. “Whatever you want, Arch,” he says.

 

 

You’ll Be Safe Here – Rivermaya (04:54)

-

From the sheer weight

Of your doubts and fears

Weary heart

You’ll be safe here

-

Archie blossoms in the blazing Manila heat, his smile soft and serene under the golden sun. Cook’s heart warms to see it, to hear Archie’s bright laughter, to see him so happy.

He vows to do all that he can to preserve that happiness, to carry it with them back to the states when they have to leave, and to make sure that Archie never wants for anything, no matter how far apart their careers continue to take them.

There’s no need to worry about distance tonight, though, not when they’re sharing this wide stage. Archie is radiant beneath the bright lights, the gorgeous sound of his voice echoing in the cavernous venue and wrapping around Cook like a string, pulling him to his feet, pulling him to Archie, until they’re standing together in front of 40,000 people, all of them singing at the top of their lungs.

Cook aches when they turn their back on the crowd, remembered grief and heartache clinging to him like a second skin, but Archie is there to see him through, his arm slipping around Cook’s waist, holding him securely in the world and guiding him _home_.    

 

 

Here Tonight – Hale (05:52)

-

‘Cause I need you here tonight

I need you here inside

I need you here tonight

I really, really need you here tonight

-

Cook throws himself into touring when he gets back to the states, losing himself in the blazing lights and the roar of a new audience every night. Always, always, it feels as though he’s trying to fill a gap, the empty space beside him where Archie used to be. He’d gotten spoiled by their trip overseas, had come to depend upon the boy to always be there. He finds himself turning to tell Arch something, to take his hand or wrap an arm around his shoulder, and each time his absence drives a sharp spike of longing into Cook’s chest.

They talk as often as they’re able, sharing phone calls that last well into the night and the occasional video chat when they’re both stationary for long enough. Cook aches when he sees Archie’s bright eyes and familiar dimpled smile, radiant even though the pixels of a computer screen, and he wishes they were back in Manila, together under the bright summer sun.

He feels disconnected from the universe, off center. He tries to hide it from Archie, who has finally appeared to find his footing, looking happier than Cook’s seen him since Manila, sure and confident in a way that makes Cook smile.

He thinks he’s done a pretty good job of it, grinning and waving away Archie’s concern whenever his boyfriend asks him if he’s alright, until one night after a show when he stumbles onto the bus and finds a familiar figure waiting for him, duffle bag by his feet and a warm, welcoming smile on his face.

For a long moment Cook can’t even move, can only gawk at the teenager like the very starstruck fans he’d just left screaming back at the venue, but when Archie steps up to him and touches his chest, calling Cook’s name in that soft, raspy voice that he’s _missed_  so much, it takes no coaxing at all for Cook to fall into his arms.

 

 

Mula Sa Puso (From the Heart) – Jude Michael (04:06)

-

It’s like everything has no ending

Because of the sweetness of each encounter

If it’s from the heart, then that’s how it really is

-

Cook hovers over him, palms pressed to the mattress on either side of David’s head, staring down at him with dark, hungry eyes.

Heat pools in David’s belly as that rapt, lustful gaze trails over his face, the open collar of his shirt, down to the bare strip of skin visible above the band of his jeans. He feels flushed with desire, with the need to have that gaze on him always, to drown in the surety that Cook loves him, _wants_  him, and to show Cook that he feels the same.

“Are you sure?” Cook asks, his voice a low rasp. His braces himself on one hand so he can curl the other around David’s side, his palm huge and warm through David’s shirt.

David swallows, curling his fingers in the necklaces dangling from Cook’s throat. “I’m sure, Cook,” he says, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to Cook’s lips and hooking his leg over the round curve of Cook’s hip at the same time. “I want you,” he promises between heated kisses, drinking in Cook’s throaty gasp like the finest wine. “Please, I need – “

He arches into Cook, whimpering as he grinds against the bulge in Cook’s jeans, and Cook’s low, sweet groan of surrender is like music to David’s ears.

 

 

Yakap sa Dilim (Embrace in the Dark) – Orange and Lemons (03:39)

-

This is the moment we have most awaited for

Here we are, embracing in the dark

Oh how delicious, these stolen moments

While we are embracing in the dark

-

David feels like he’s been waiting forever for this moment, both of them bare atop tangled bedsheets, entwined together in the darkness of Cook’s hotel room. Any fears or lingering doubts he may have been harboring scatter in the wake of Cook’s gentle touch, the rasp of his breath in David’s ear, whispering breathless words of love and devotion and _desire_.

David feels weak with desire himself, flushed with heat and the addicting sensation of Cook’s warm palms gripping his thighs, spreading him open. The hot length of him sinks into David’s body again and again, wringing noises from his throat that he never knew he could make, guttural cries ripped from the very core of him, interspersed with desperate, whimpered pleas for more.

And while nothing compares to how Cook feels, thick and hot and _perfect_  inside of him, what tips David over that perilous ledge into ecstasy is the way he _looks_ , the way they look _together_ , writhing bodies and slick flesh, the contrast of Cook’s vivid tattoos and David’s olive skin, so different from each other but so irrevocably _linked_ , like they've always been, like they always will be.

 

 

I Keep Longing for You – Rivermaya (04:26)

-

In the morning and in the evening

In every minute that passes by

I keep longing for you

-

When the nights are long, when the ache of missing Archie threatens to swallow Cook whole, when he has nothing to distract himself from the pain and the loneliness of his lover’s absence, Cook holds tight to his memories.

Meeting Archie for the first time, coaxing him out of his shell with laughter and corny jokes and music, struggling to acclimate to the pressures of the music industry together, after the lights had dimmed on that wide finale stage and they were suddenly thrust into a brand new world. Falling together, and falling apart, the long nights on the road when he longed for nothing but Archie’s voice and touch and smile.

He thinks of Manila, of Archie blossoming beneath that vibrant summer sun, of that shared moment on stage where their voices had risen above the din of 40,000 people, blending together and winding as one into the dark sky.

He thinks of the thousands of moments in-between, shared laughter and heartache, stolen kisses and late night phone calls, nights wrapped in each other’s arms, and always – always – music, winding them together and holding them steady whenever they were forced apart.

He hums now as he glances out at the dark night sky, a trill of song that he plans to include on his new album. A notebook lies open on his raised knees, filled nearly to the brim with his familiar scrawl, but it isn’t song lyrics that occupy the pages. Letters fill this notebook, all addressed to the same person. Cook doesn’t plan on sending them. Rather, he hopes to give them all to Archie when he returns, to hold him close and mouth the words into his skin. To know, irrevocably, that he’s _home_.

Cook’s looking forward to it.

 

 

If – Rivermaya (05:27)

-

If I could choose to live my life

There’ll be no ifs to say

If I would choose to hold your hand

There’ll be no words to say

-

After Archie comes home, they decide to be more discreet, to keep to themselves – not because they want to hide, but because they don’t want to _share_.

When they’re together, all Cook wants to do is shut out the rest of the world, to tuck Archie in close and never let him go. Their phones sit still and silent whenever they get a moment alone, discarded in the wake of spending time together, and they remain stubbornly tight-lipped about their encounters on social media, wanting to preserve the bubble of privacy they’ve managed to erect around themselves for as long as they’re able.

Their desire to wrap themselves up in each other only grows when Archie moves to Nashville. Cook takes him to concerts, to dinner, to the park, to all of the places he’s grown to love since moving there years ago, and Archie blossoms in the wake of that attention, under the influence of Cook’s endless care and affection. He has room to grow there, to _breathe_ , to be the person he wants to be rather than the one the industry wants him to be.

They spend many nights wrapped together in Cook’s bed – in _their_  bed, now – speaking in hushed voices as they talk about their future, the one they want, the one they hope to have some day. Cook clasps Archie’s hand between his own, stroking the round bumps of his knuckles as he listens to his boyfriend talk about the new music he wants to make, music that’s true to who he is now.

Cook sees their future spread out in front of them as that familiar, raspy voice washes over him, sees music and family and _promise_  in the sweep of Archie’s sleepy grin, the laugh lines around his brilliant eyes, the strong, graceful curve of his fingers wrapped tightly around Cook’s own.

Most of all, he sees _love_ , endless and wrapping warmly around them both, as constant as the music that binds them – that has always bound them, and will always keep them – together.

 

 

Bituing Walang Ningning (Unshining Star) – The Phillippine Madrigal Singers (06:39)

-

I’ve finally reached the stars

But my heaven is still by your side

When the two of us become one

No matter how many thousands of stars are out there

They cannot match the way we shine

-

They hold the ceremony at night.

Archie is resplendent in his dark suit and steel tie, striding down the aisle on his mother’s arm amid lantern light and the blanket of stars twinkling over their heads. His eyes are warm and bright, trained on Cook as he makes his way toward the altar, and Cook feels his breath catch in his throat at the breadth of that loving smile, the surety in every step Archie takes towards him, towards the new life they’re building together.

Archie kisses his mother’s cheek as she gives him away, her own eyes bright with tears that do nothing to detract from the beauty of her brilliant smile, and then he’s standing by Cook’s side, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Cook’s in a gentle, reassuring hold.

Cook’s body _sighs_  at the contact, and he turns to the priest with a blossom of warmth blooming thick and hot in his chest, feeling with every fiber of his being that this is where he’s meant to be. Here, at Archie’s side, is where he _belongs_.

He vows to cherish Archie with all that he has, through sickness and in health, through weakness and strength, in times of joy and in times of strife.

In return, Archie promises to love him, for as long as they both shall live, through laughter and heartache and pain, through tears and distance, through trials and triumphs.

Cook slips the broad silver band onto Archie’s finger amid the hush of their family and friends, his cheeks wet with tears as Archie returns the gesture. Cook barely hears the priest’s next words, too focused on the warmth of the ring against his skin, the knowledge that he belongs to Archie just as surely as Archie belongs to him.  

And when they kiss, Cook knows that not even the stars above can match the way they shine.


	17. Chapter 17

Blank Space – Taylor Swift

-

Saw you there and I thought  
Oh my god, look at that face  
You look like my next mistake

-

Dave’s on his third drink of the evening when he sees him.

He knows the name easily enough – David Archuleta, 19E’s golden child and winner of season seven (or eight? There’s so many of the damn things Dave loses track) of _American Idol_. He’s barely out of his teens now, yet he’s got a gold album under his belt and a slew of top singles.

It’s not surprising he’s here; everyone on the label is, plus a slew of other musicians (Dave included) besides. He’s not actually sure what the party is for, wouldn’t have shown up at all if his agent hadn’t pressured him into it. The rest of the band’s already been and gone, leaving him to rub elbows with starlets and pop sensations (which is about as fun as it sounds, meaning not at all) while they run off to one of the nearby bars.

Dave’s this close to following after them (to hell with his agent), yet he finds himself lingering instead, fingers curled loosely around the stem of his wine glass as he watches David Archuleta converse quietly with some record exec.

He doesn’t know why he’s so fascinated. The guy’s attractive, sure, all bright eyes and huge, sweet smiles, slender figure and olive skin, and his voice is fucking amazing, it’s actually a little ridiculous, and okay, so he’s actually kind of funny, too, and endearing in a dorky sort of way, and –

Okay, so maybe Dave knows why he’s a little taken with the guy. And why he’s suddenly walking over in Archuleta’s direction.

Archuleta looks a little startled to suddenly find Dave in his personal space, but he acclimates readily enough, smiling politely and tilting his head in acknowledgement.

“Um, hi?” he says, voice smooth and a little breathy, and Dave has about two seconds to think _Oh shit_ before his heart does a little stop-shudder in his chest. “You’re David Cook, right?”

“You’ve heard of me?” Dave asks, grinning, a little wary on the off chance Archuleta has heard all of the _wrong_ things about him, the rumors that follow him around despite the bulk of them being untrue, most of which are attributed to his love life, which more often than not ends up in the public eye despite his best attempts otherwise.

Archuleta makes a slight “Mm hm” noise of assent, and he’s smiling still, so Dave allows himself to relax his guard. “I have your, um, your sophomore album? It’s really good!”

From anybody else the praise might seem bland, just another polite platitude people in the industry give to one another, but from Archuleta it sounds completely genuine. Dave finds himself grinning back.

“Thanks, man. I heard your new single a while back. You’re pretty amazing.” Which is completely true and has the added bonus of making Archuleta’s ears turn red.

“Oh gosh, thank you.” He ducks his head a little, bashful, and Dave mentally tightens the reins around his self-restraint, because damn if Archuleta doesn’t look just then like the teenager Dave knows he’s not.

They trade stories about their recent albums, their respective bands and the toils of tour, and Dave doesn’t think he’s imagining the way the space between them seems to shrink as the night wears on.

His phone buzzes with a text, Neal’s _Where the hell are you?_ prompting him to glance at the time and marvel – two hours have passed since he first made his way to Archuleta’s side.

“Oh, do you have to go?” Archuleta actually sounds disappointed, his brows scrunched together and his lips turned down at the corners. 

And okay, maybe Dave’s a little insane (he has a long list of ex-lovers who can attest to that), but he takes one look at Archuleta’s shy, hesitant smile and thinks _Fuck it_.

“Nah, I’m all yours,” he says, dying to see how this one ends.


	18. Chapter 18

No Matter What – Boyzone (04:35)

-

I can't deny what I believe  
I can't be what I'm not  
I know this love's forever  
That's all that matters now  
No matter what

-

David slumps down onto the bed with a tired sigh, closing his eyes as he listens to the familiar sounds of Cook shuffling around in the bathroom as he gets ready for bed.

It had been a long day, filled with reporters hurling questions at them that they had no right to, interviewers grilling them about everything from their families’ reaction to their relationship to how they thought the news would impact their fanbases and careers.

The whole experience had left David feeling numb and tired, as though he had spent the entire day under the lens of a microscope, everyone picking at the core of him with their endless probing questions and damning eyes, judging him, dissecting him at their leisure, and expecting him to take it all with a smile.

Cook had been beside him the whole time, hand wrapped securely in David’s own, a pillar of strength and support as voices yelled at them, surrounded them, camera flashes going off in their faces. He’d kept David grounded throughout the entire ordeal, a port in the storm, and without him, David knows, he never would have made it through.

Cook flopping down onto the bed beside him startles David out of his thoughts, and he turns to his boyfriend with a tired smile. Cook takes in his face with a shake of his head, and David can tell without asking that Cook knows exactly where his mind had been wandering.

“Babe, stop worrying,” Cook tells him, confirming David’s thoughts. His boyfriend’s skin is still warm and a little damp from his shower, and David drinks in the scent of his shampoo and the faint traces of his aftershave with a deep sigh, the tense knot that had sat in his stomach all day finally unclenching. “It doesn’t matter what they say. This – “ Cook grabs David’s hand, pulling it to his mouth to press a kiss to David’s skin. “This is all that matters.”

David smiles, curling into the protective warmth of his boyfriend’s embrace. Everything else falls by the wayside in the face of this, them, together. They can face anything, so long as they have this.


	20. Chapter 20

Say That You Love Me – Martin Nievera (04:31)

-

Then my days begin  
With simple thoughts of you  
Hoping that tomorrow will be me and you  
Sharing dreams with each other  
And making them come true

-

Every day is a little harder.

Each morning that he wakes up alone, automatically reaching out for the warmth of a body that isn’t there, he has to clench his fist in the bedding and remind himself that _this_ , this separation, won’t last forever.

Thoughts of Archie get him through those first tremulous moments of the day, fond remembrances that bring a smile to his face or tears to his eyes seeing him through the lonely, silent mornings. Promises that they’d made in those last few months before Archie’s departure, promises that they would find their way back to each other, cling to his mind like wisps of smoke, reminding him that all he has to do, all he needs to do, is _wait_.

That doesn’t stop Cook from wondering sometimes, in the darkest parts of the night, if Archie will even feel the same way once he comes back. Two years is such a long time.

He tries to hold on to the fervent hope inside of him that Archie will come back, to him, to _them_ , that he’ll shake his head fondly in the face of Cook’s insecurities and tell Cook that he loves him, still, that that never changed. That it never will. 

Whatever happens, whether they find their way back to each other or have to let each other go, Cook knows one simple truth – that his love will always be with Archie. He’d given it away long ago.


	21. Chapter 21

Poet – Bastille (02:48)

-

I can't say the words out loud  
So in rhyme I wrote you down  
Now you'll live through the ages  
I can feel your pulse in the pages

-

He’s never been good with words. He stumbles, he stutters, he rambles. 

Music is where he feels _confident_ ; it’s the outlet through which he can say exactly what he means without fear of reproach or judgement. 

When he writes music about Cook, music _for_ Cook, it’s his way of sharing the truth of his heart with the world. All of his longing, his hope, and his _love_ are there in every note, every chord. 

Even if no one else knows, will never know that when he’s singing about gravity, about flying and falling and forevermore, that he’s singing about _Cook_ , David doesn’t mind. It’s enough that he knows that Cook’s smile and Cook’s light and Cook’s love are there, pulsing in every page and infusing his lyrics with meaning.

He likes to imagine people ages from now listening to his music and wondering who his words are for. He imagines Cook living forever that way, even after they’re both gone from the world, the pages of their story spread out across time within the lyrics that David has penned.

It’s like their own brand of immortality.


	22. Chapter 22

Never Seen Anything (Quite Like You) – The Script (03:23)

-

Well I've seen you in jeans with no make-up on  
And I've stood there in awe as your date for the prom  
I'm blessed as a man to have seen you in white  
But I've never seen anything quite like you tonight

-

He’s seen Archie in everything from pajamas to sweatpants to t-shirts and jeans, from ridiculous stage get ups to formal dress to nothing but sweat and skin and heated breath.

He’s seen Archie in early morning sunlight, when his hair is flattened on one side and sticking up on the other, when his eyes are half-lidded and sleepy and he grumbles at Cook to “Get off of me so I can run, Cook, gosh!” 

He’s seen Archie in shades of white and steel gray, walking down the aisle on his mother’s arm and grinning so brightly that even the stars in the sky above their heads seemed dim in comparison.

But tonight… Cook’s never seen anything quite like Archie tonight.

He’s dominating the stage with the sheer force of his voice and the brightness of his smile, reaching out to the people in the back of the auditorium, sweat shining on his brow and in the hollow of his throat. The silver band on his finger shines in the brightness of the stage lights, and Cook feels his entire body flush as his husband strides across the stage, his every move confident and sure.

When he turns and catches Cook’s eye, he _beams_ , the joy bright and beautiful on his face, and when he beckons Cook out with a, “Welcome my husband to the stage, everyone!” there’s no other place that Cook would rather be than by his side.


	23. Chapter 23

Falling – Emmy Rossum (03:56)

-

Just a look and I'm not thinking straight  
I'm addicted, I don't wanna wait  
I'm letting go  
Of everything that I know, I'm losing it

-

Cook’s felt the shades of this feeling before, the initial rush of attraction and the warmth of infatuation not unfamiliar, but he’s never felt it quite like _this_.

He’s like a damn teenager in front of the kid, which is equal parts ironic and pathetic, considering the object of his affections is (barely!) eighteen years old himself. He stumbles over his words in front of Archie like some shy kid in the presence of the head cheerleader, and goes out of his way to act like an idiot just to get Archie to crack a smile.

It’d be easy to ignore what he’s feeling if only Archie would make any indication that Cook’s affections weren’t welcome, but he does the opposite. He folds into Cook’s side like he belongs there, arches under Cook’s touch like he enjoys it, and he smiles up at Cook like… like…

Like he’s feeling it, too. Like he’s _falling_ , too.


	24. Chapter 24

Standing By – Pentatonix (04:12)

-

I have waited a thousand years,  
And now that tomorrow's here,  
I will shout from the mountain top  
Our hearts belong near

-

Cook is standing by himself on stage when David sees him, the others having disappeared backstage after soundcheck.

Cook hasn’t noticed his approach, and for a moment David just stands there, feeling his heart pulse with warmth, with _happiness_ , just seeing the man he’s missed so _much_ standing there under the familiar glare of stage lights, his hands curled around the mic as he stares out at the empty auditorium.

There are traces of gray in his beard that David doesn’t remember, and he’s reminded, suddenly, painfully, of the time he’s missed. 

But then Cook turns his head, catching David’s gaze, and the smile that spreads across his face is at once familiar and still so _new_ , a smile of contentment, of _welcome_ , that fills David with light.

His feet set off across the stage of their own accord, moving first at a slow walk, and then a jog, and then a run, a breathless laugh escaping his lips as Cook falters for a moment, quickly unhanding the mic before he opens his arms in invitation.

David leaps into his arms, wrapping his own tight around Cook’s neck and laughing as Cook spins him around, keeping him close even after he carefully lowers David to the ground.

He can feel the thrum of Cook’s heart against his, warm and insistent even through layers of clothes, and David reaches up to taste the curve of Cook’s smile, secure in the knowledge that Cook will always be there to welcome him _home_.


	25. Chapter 25

You Set Me Free – Michelle Branch (03:15)

-

'Cause I wanted to fly,  
so you gave me your wings  
And time held its breath so I could see, yeah  
And you set me free

-

He’s pressed against Cook that night in the hotel while they eat, the others having decided to “leave them to their own devices” and head out into town for dinner, and he can barely stop _grinning_ long enough to take a few bites of his food.

Cook nudges his shoulder, amusement and affection clear on his face. “You look happy,” he says, sounding pleased about it himself.

David beams in response. He feels like they never left the stage, like he’s still up there singing with Cook by his side. He hadn’t expected to be called out in front of the audience, had never thought that he and Cook would share such an impromptu duet, and at first fear had gripped his heart when he stepped out under the bright stage lights. 

Cook’s ready grin had gotten him through the anxiety, however, and before he even knew it he had been belting into the mic, like two years hadn’t passed since the last time he took to a stage, like he had never even left it in the first place. 

He sets his food, barely touched in his excitement, on the coffee table, and leans his head against the curve of Cook’s shoulder. “Thank you, for tonight,” he says, hoping that Cook understands everything he isn’t saying. _Thank you for getting me out on stage. Thank you for reminding me that I belong there_.

Cook’s smile softens. He curls his arm around David’s shoulder, pulling him into the warmth of his side. “That was all you, Archie,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to David’s brow. David warms at the tender show of affection. 

“It was us,” David returns, because as much as it had been his choice to take that leap of faith and join Cook on that stage, it had been Cook who had given him the chance – the chance to find his feet after months of uncertainty, and the confidence to take that first step.


	26. Chapter 26

Tell Me Where it Hurts – MYMP (04:19)

-

Just tell me where it hurts now, tell me  
And I’ll love you with a love so tender  
Oh and if you let me stay  
I'll love all of the hurt away

-

Cook laughs it off whenever he talks about his past relationships, but there’s always something a little guarded behind the curve of his smile, something sad in his eyes whenever he’s lost in those memories. 

David has listened to _Analog Heart_ , had rushed to ITunes along with the rest of America to buy every track when the news dropped that Cook had made an album, and Cook’s voice, the _heartbreak_ in every lyric had torn at David’s heart like a knife. 

He hates to think that Cook may be on guard with him, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he’s _used_ to it, used to coming in second, used to not being _enough_. It scares David, sometimes, to think that he might have that kind of power over Cook, the power to _break_ him. He never wants Cook to hurt because of him.

So he promises – to Cook and to _himself_ – that he’ll be careful with Cook’s heart, as tender as he can possibly be with such a precious gift. He vows to keep it safe, protect it, even if at times he has to guard it from Cook himself.


End file.
